


Kissmarked

by Moami



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Humor, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moami/pseuds/Moami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a beat of silence. Inoue stares at him. “You don’t know? Uhm.” He laughs nervously, and then points to his own neck. “Your nape is full of blue marks. Looks like you were bitten or someone tried to strangle you. I hope it’s not the latter.” </p><p>Fucking hell. </p><p>“Actually,” Inoue mumbles, “they kind of look like an O. But whatever floats your boat, I suppose.”</p><p>Murder, Hajime thinks. I’m going to fucking kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissmarked

**Author's Note:**

> This is sin. Pure sin. There's a bit of plot and humour, too. Enjoy.

 

It’s the libero of all people who ends up ruining Hajime’s day.

And because it’s only been three days since they joined their new university’s volleyball team, him and Tooru, and there’s a lot of new players around in general, Hajime doesn’t remember that guy’s name yet. So his heart skips a few horrified beats when the short guy in the reverse coloured jersey calls his name after training. When Hajime doesn’t react, frozen into place by a thought train that ranges from _I should have gotten around that last block, if only my spike -_  to _What fucking problem is Tooru causing this time,_ the libero moves toward him.

Shit, Hajime thinks.

The libero approaches him with an expression that definitely means something serious. Fuck, who was he again, he’s a regular and Hajime can’t even remember this name, they’re so going to kick him out. But they can’t, because he’s gotten good after high school, _really_ good, the captain said he needs Hajime and so does Tooru, that stupid, talented-

The libero stops in front of Hajime. He rubs his neck, looking like he’s bitten into a lemon. Hajime is still busy wrecking his brain for a name when the guy says: “Are you okay?”

Hajime blinks. “What?”

“I mean, if you’re fine. If everything’s, you know. Good.” The libero flails his hand around vaguely.  

“Uh,” Hajime manages. “I. Yeah?”

“Are you sure?” The libero – and Hajime’s brain finally supplies a name, _Inoue_ – doesn’t seem relieved. He looks over his shoulder for a few seconds, then reaches to grab Hajime’s arm, pulling him away from the rest of the team that’s tidying up the gym. “Can you just come with me for a second? We need to talk.”

Hajime swallows. Shit. “Of course.”

This isn’t good.

Inoue may not be the captain – he can’t be, not as a libero – but he’s making most of the choices for the team, and even Tooru admitted after their first trial training that Inoue’s an incredibly capable player.

(All of them are, in the end. It’s university level, not high school anymore. But lo and behold, Hajime and Tooru are keeping up better than any of the older team members expected them to. His own spikes are sharp and dangerous, and Tooru’s calm intuition of the game has developed into a cold instinct of aim, order, slay. Hajime’s never been prouder to call him his boyfriend. Not that anyone knows about that, but it’s a faint hum of victory in his own chest whenever Tooru sends a perfect toss.)

So when Inoue wants to have a talk with Hajime, alone, it can’t be any good. Hajime catches a curious glance from Tooru before he has to turn away and go.

He follows Inoue away from the court and into the hallway that leads to the locker rooms. As soon as they’re alone, Inoue stops harshly. Hajime straightens his back when he’s faced with the libero’s stern expression and a pair of crossed arms.

Inoue shifts around for a moment, almost as if he’s really uncomfortable with all of this. His short brown hair is a sweaty mess from training and he’s only making it worse by running his fingers through it every five seconds. “This isn’t anything personal, I promise.”

“Just spit it out.” Hajime doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s wrecking his brain about today’s training and ends up finding nothing. Everything went well, he got a lot of spikes in, he blocked whatever he could and okay, maybe he didn’t reach one of Tooru’s tosses but of course Tooru took the blame for that. What the hell did he do?

Hajime bites his lip, trying to already look rueful and prepared to apologize for both of them, when Inoue takes a deep breath.

“Look, your sex life really isn’t any of my business.”

Hajime’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Inoue shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to say it. It looks painful, but as long as your performance isn’t affected… I just wanted to check, well, I mean I worry about my teammates. Uhm, whether someone is – God, this is awkward, I mean, whether it’s _consensual_ or-“

“Wait, just. Stop.” Hajime hopes that the floor is going to open up and swallow him, oh _God_ , he just wants to die. Is spontaneous combustion a thing, because if not, he’s about to be the first victim and a historic premiere of exploding from embarrassment. His cheeks are burning. He has a horrible notion of what this is about. “What the hell do you mean?”

There’s a beat of silence. Inoue stares at him. “You don’t know? Uhm.” He laughs nervously, and then points to his own neck. “Your nape is full of blue marks. Looks like you were bitten or someone tried to strangle you. I hope it’s not the latter.”

Fucking hell.

“Actually,” Inoue mumbles, “they kind of look like an O. But whatever floats your boat, I suppose.”

 _Murder,_ Hajime thinks. _I’m going to fucking kill him._ He forces his hands to press against his thighs and bows as deeply as he can. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, it’s really nothing. I’ll take care of it immediately.” Oh, he will. His face itches like it’s on fire.

He’s never been so embarrassed in his life. His neck feels heavy, and Hajime can barely suppress the urge to reach up and press a hand over the dark kiss marks on his neck.

“Oh.” A smile lights up Inoue’s face. He uncrosses his arms, shoulders sinking down visibly. “That’s good. But you’re sure that you’re okay? I mean, we’re a team now, you can talk to me or the captain.”

“Thank you.” Please, please make it stop already. Hajime stares at the floor, still bent forward, arms pressing hard to his side. Dying sounds so nice right now.

“Uhm. So.” Inoue taps his shoulder, causing Hajime to glance up at him. “You can stand, you know. It’s okay.”

“Is that all, then?” Shit, now he sounds like an asshole. Hajime pulls himself upright and tries to smile. It doesn’t really work. “I mean, thank you for worrying, but I’m okay. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

Inoue laughs, scratching his neck. “As long as your girlfriend isn’t chewing your neck off, I guess it’s okay. She’s a wild one, huh?”

“You could say that.” Tooru is so, so fucking _dead_.

“I see.” Inoue nods as if he understands. “Girls, man, girls. Haha. They’re crazy.”

Hajime considers drowning himself in the nearest sink.

There’s a few seconds of thick, awkward silence.

Then Inoue huffs and waves his hands towards the gym. “Alright, so. I should probably. Uhm. Get going. Talk to the captain.”

“Yeah.” Hajime finally lifts himself up and steps aside to let Inoue through, but then something crosses his mind. “Inoue-san, wait. Just a second.”

“Hm?”

“Did – were you the only one who noticed?” Hajime knows that staring at his poor teammate as if he’s about to deliver a death sentence is probably very impolite, but he can’t bring himself to care. Inoue tilts his head and seems to be thinking. After a moment, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think so. You played back row the entire time, and it’s not really visible unless I’m standing right behind you. I think you’re fine.”

Well, that’s something at least. It doesn’t help to cool down the burning red on Hajime’s face, though. He needs to get out of here before he punches a wall or starts screaming his lungs out.

“G-good. It was all consensual, I promise. I’ll talk to my, er, my girlfriend. So she won’t do it again.” Shit, he stumbles over the words as if he’s embarrassed to mention a girl that doesn’t even exist, but Inoue still chuckles.

“Okay then. Well, the wild ones are more adventurous in bed, I guess. You should bring her along to your first official game, if she’s all over you like that. She can cheer all of us on.” Inoue’s lips curl into a grin as he slaps Hajime on the back. “Damn, what a catch you got yourself there. Though I wonder, in what position would she even reach your neck like that-“

Hajime can’t take it anymore.

He bows again, bursting into a “Thank you so much, I think I need to sit down for a moment, please excuse me” before whirling around and dashing off to the locker rooms. Inoue shouts something after him that sounds suspiciously like “Take care, and drop the honorifics!” but it doesn’t reach Hajime’s brain.

The locker room is still empty. Everyone else is in the gym, probably mopping the floor and stashing away the volleyballs. Hajime sinks down on a bench and buries his face in his hands. How didn’t he notice? Inoue must have been staring at his neck for more than two hours, wondering who mauled Hajime to look like that-

And he doesn’t even know how bad it actually is. Hajime is up on his feet again, making a bolt for the bathroom. He has to check before everyone’s coming back. They can’t take that long, he’s been talking with Inoue for a bit, fuck, poor Inoue, and he’s kind of Hajime’s superior as well, Jesus Christ.

There’s a mirror above the last sink only, all the others cracked or taken off. It’s hard to make them last in a men’s locker room where victory or loss are really showing effect after a match. Hajime pulls off his shirt in a rough motion, balling it up in his fist. Alright. He takes a slow breath and turns his back to the mirror. How bad can it really be?

 _Well, after all Tooru did it,_ a tiny voice in the back of his head grins. _He doesn’t do things by halves._

Hajime hates himself for not having better self-control. He remembers how it happened, because Tooru’s lips had pressed _just right below his ear._ _They always make his skin sing, he couldn’t ever forget how Tooru had felt all over him, his weight heavy, sinking into Hajime with a slow thrust, and he’d been so full, burning from his mouth down to his neck, his spine in flames where Tooru’s thumbs burnt above his tailbone, “Hajime, you’re so, ah - are you okay,” and Hajime had nodded, yes, more, a moan cracking in his voice when he’d called Tooru’s name into the pillow, and Tooru had gasped into his neck, breath sharp and barely held control trembling in his voice. “God, you’re so,” he’d kissed Hajime everywhere, had rocked his hips forward slowly, teasing Hajime until he’d keened, whispering “so perfect, I’ll make you feel good, can I, let me-?” Hajime had made a dark noise, low in his throat that had arched upright, his body shuddering all over when teeth had sunken into his neck the same moment that Tooru had pulled back, leaving him empty and cold for so long, too long. Hajime had made a sound that could have been a broken sob, “I need, oh God, Toor-“, and Tooru’s cock had gently coaxed him open, stretching Hajime where he’d already been sore and pliant and oh, he’d given in to the heat, to Tooru’s body breaking him apart in a burst of white light in his vision-_

Yeah, he remembers where those marks came from. But he thought Tooru had just – and that idea alone makes him press his legs together and curse this stupid idiot – bitten at the same spot all over again.

He has to see the full extent of it. Hajime sighs, and dares to take a peek over his shoulder.

His mouth falls open.

Goddammit.

 

* * *

 

 

Tooru seems to be completely unfazed, and it’s making Hajime’s blood boil.  

That damn mark is hugging his neck like a choker. It’s a dark blue ring, the very shape that Inoue has described it as, Hajime’s skin bruised in witness to that last night he tries not to think about too much (because he’s in public and the memory does things to him, thinking about Tooru’s warm body falling all around him). Hajime had stared at it in the mirror, and the realization had hit him right in the face.

Tooru has sucked an O into his neck. And he’s placed it so perfectly that it’s sitting just above the collar of Hajime’s jersey, clearly visible to everyone behind him.

Once again, Hajime wonders how he’s fallen for this idiot. It could have been anyone. (No, not really.) He could have a nice, normal boyfriend. (As if he’d want that.)

Tooru enters the locker room after everyone else with his usual enthusiasm, clapping the back of every single team mate with some variation of praise, and he doesn’t even so much as blink when Hajime slaps his hand away as Tooru tries to touch him. Everyone else clearly senses that something’s been going on. There are no conversations while everyone changes clothes, and the goodbyes that his teammates tell Hajime are quiet and accompanied by questioning looks.

“See you tomorrow. Good game,” Hajime tells them, doing at least some damage control.

It seems to work. Most of them nod back at him before leaving out the door, and outside, chattering and the usual volleyball discussions start again. Hajime lets his head hang low. His fingers fidget around the zipper of his bag. The blush on his cheeks doesn’t seem to go away.

_It’s like I’m carrying his mark. No, I actually am._

Fuck. He’s supposed to be mad, not turned on. This is all Tooru’s fault.

Inoue pats his shoulder when he passes by Hajime, snapping him out of his daze. “You did well today. Don’t wreck your head about it.”

Hajime almost wants to apologize because now he’s making the team suffer for what Tooru fucked up, but he just tells himself that it’ll be okay again tomorrow. At least he didn’t disturb their training. “Thanks. I’m sorry about not helping with the cleaning. I’ll stay behind all week and do it all alone.”

“I said it’s okay.” Inoue shoves the strap of his bag over his head and waves. “Hurry up though, coach wants to lock up. See ya.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

Tooru and he are the only ones left after a few minutes. Hajime stands up and snatches his bag as soon as Tooru’s back in his casual clothes. Of course it’s something fashionable, and he looks gorgeous in it and Hajime grits his teeth to remember why he’s angry. Those jeans should be illegal. Who even makes shirts that are as tight as that, and why the fuck can Tooru still pull off turquoise even now that they’re in college?

“Hey, what did Inoue talk to you about?” Tooru slips into his jacket. He reaches out for Hajime’s hair, trying to tuck a longer strand behind his ear, but Hajime ducks away. Not happening. “You okay?”

He doesn’t give Tooru the satisfaction of a reply. Hajime turns around and starts walking. There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Then, a flurry of footsteps sounds behind him.

Hajime did consider leaving without Tooru, but that would only cause Tooru to show up at his doorstep later and cause drama about not being let in.

“Are you mad or something? Hajime! Hey, wait for me!”

Either way, Hajime is ignoring him, but that doesn’t keep Tooru from trying to take his hand again and again on the way home.

 

* * *

 

 

“You can’t be mad at me forever.”

Hajime stares at the same page of his book that he’s had open for an hour.

“Come on. Ignoring me is really mean.”

He’s read the same sentence five times.

“Hajime, please. I don’t know what I did to make you all grumpy and cold! I mean, you’re always in a foul mood, but don’t take it out on me, I’m always so sweet to you. You can’t just ignore your boyfriend like that.”

The words just don’t make any sense. And Tooru isn’t helping at all.

Hajime’s done his best to ignore him, he really has. Tooru should thank him for even letting him into his flat. Sometimes he feels as if Tooru doesn’t even have his own place – okay, maybe his dorm room really isn’t that nice and Hajime’s flat has more space, but still. They always end up here at night, together. Like last night.

Gods, his neck is still burning.

Dinner has passed without Hajime even reacting to Tooru’s smiles, the gentle touches against Hajime’s shoulder blades, the attempts at resting his chin on Hajime’s shoulder while watching him cook. Now they’re on the couch and Tooru is blasting some alien movie at full volume, knowing very well that he’s invading Hajime’s flat again instead of staying in his own and Jesus, can’t he just stop running his fingertips over Hajime’s arm already?

When Tooru pushes his nose into Hajime’s hair, it’s over. Hajime slams the book shut and chucks it onto the couch table. “You know what you did, damn it!” His voice comes out much less angry than he wants it to, but it’s effective still.

Tooru pulls back from him, surprise shining in his eyes. “I do? Hm. I can’t remember. But at least you’re talking to me again,” a smile spreads on his lips. His fingertips are stars of flaring heat on Hajime’s skin, dancing over his arm in a barely there touch. “Now tell me, did you turn Inoue down?”

“It’s always about what you want, right! You can’t just leave all those marks on me, especially not where they are fucking _visible_ -“ Wait. Hajime blinks and pushes Tooru away. “What? Inoue?”

Tooru seems confused, too. He doesn’t stop touching though, and Hajime allows himself to relax into the gentle patterns that Tooru creates on the skin of his arms. Tooru pulls his legs up the couch, hugging one and laying his cheek down on his knee. “Well, he was hitting on you, wasn’t he? After training.” There’s something dark flashing through his eyes, something Hajime hasn’t seen in a few months.

He’s – oh wow. Hajime’s lips twitch. “Are you _jealous_?”

“Of course not!” Tooru sits up straight immediately. He sticks his chin up in the air, lips pursed into a pout. Hajime can’t believe it. “He’s got no chance with you. You’re a taken man, and you’re with me. Also, my Hajime isn’t the type to cheat. You’re too loyal.”

“Is that so,” Hajime says, amused. “Then why did you ask me about Inoue in the first place?”

“Maybe he harassed you. I would have to take revenge and defend your honor.”

“He didn’t even flirt with me. He’s straight, Tooru. You’re an idiot.”

“Aw, but you do love me,” Tooru says, soft. He shuffles closer, and Hajime doesn’t intervene when Tooru slides a leg around his waist and lifts his fingers to caress Hajime’s jaw. “Don’t you?”

Hajime stares at him. “You fucking _marked my neck.”_

_Yes, his mind whispers. Yes, I do love you, more than I ever thought I could._

Tooru is quiet for a moment. Then, he says: “Oh. That.”

Hajime crosses his arms. “Yeah. You got something to say?” It’s hard to focus when Tooru touches his jaw like Hajime is a galaxy laid out in his hands, and his leg is warm and so flexible around Hajime’s waist, looking like it belongs there. The light softens Tooru’s smile around its edges. His eyes are darker than their usual amber.

Hajime swallows and caves. He leans in, letting the tips of their noses touch. “So?”

Tooru exhales, and Hajime realizes that he’s been holding his breath. “I guess I, well. Overdid it a tiny bit.”

“That’s not an apology.”

“You didn’t ask for one, Hajime.”

God, why does he have to say his name like that? Hajime shifts, weaving a hand into Tooru’s hair and finding a hold in its softness. He smells like mint, lavender, apples, and Hajime adores him too much for his own good.

“At least warn me next time, okay? Why’d you do it anyways?” Hajime really isn’t good at this whole being-mad-at-his-boyfriend thing. He brushes his mouth against Tooru’s, nips gently at his lower lip. “No need to be jealous. I’m not the flirty one, you are.”

Tooru sighs into his touch, his breath huffing against Hajime’s mouth in a laugh. “I’d never dare to look at another man. You’re my only one. Mhm, will you kick me if I come closer? I’ll tell you why I did it if you let me hug you.”

“There’s a chance I will.” Hajime can’t help but grin. His teeth graze Tooru’s lips, making his breath hitch in a way that Hajime loves so much. “Kick you, that is. But you’ll do it anyways.”

“You know me too well.” Within seconds, Tooru has pushed him down and is sitting on his lap. Hajime’s flat on his back, his hips framed by Tooru’s knees, of course he’s giving in to Tooru again and to the kiss that pushes their mouths together.

It’s a song whose melody he could never forget. Their kiss is warm, familiar, it tingles from Hajime’s lips down to his toes and he curls them, legs falling apart as much as it’s possible on the tiny couch to let Tooru closer. When Tooru sinks down onto him, Hajime grunts. “Heavy."

“Sorry.” Tooru’s mouth is kissing below his ear, having trailed there along his jawline and leaving heat on Hajime's skin. “I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I want everyone to know that you’re taken.”

Hajime wants to say something – that Tooru is stupid for thinking that Hajime would ever flirt with someone else, that he’s too possessive, only that Hajime doesn’t really mind.

He can’t.

Tooru _growls_ into his neck, words dropping low and coiling through Hajime’s blood. “Maybe I did it because you looked so good last night, all naked and moaning my name. God, how you took me in. You’re so good, I want you, I need you so badly, Hajime, can we?”

There’s never been a single time where he didn’t ask. That little question comes as certain as Hajime knows that he loves him, as sure as Tooru kisses him awake in the morning and falls asleep curled against his chest. _Do you want to? Can we? I want to do this to you, will you let me?_

 _Yes, always._  Hajime needs all of him.

“Hajime,” Tooru says his name, teeth scraping his shoulder, the sensitive spot over his collarbone.

Hajime closes his eyes. “Shut up.” He can’t keep his hips from pressing up, searching for some kind of friction from Tooru, but Tooru is already closing his strong thighs around Hajime’s waist and grinds down, his cock hard and heavy in his pants.

“I want you,” Tooru croaks. “Hajime, love.”

Hajime reaches, touches his fingers to Tooru’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says, smiling around an unspoken thought (you are gorgeous). “As if I could be mad at you when you’re like that.” He drops his hand, pushes his thumbs where Tooru’s nipples have gone hard below his shirt, his fingers catching one to tug.  

Tooru makes a dark, raw noise, and rocks his hips forward.

Hajime’s world blurs apart. They’re falling into another. It’s not enough. Hajime needs to feel him on his skin and just as he wants to pull at Tooru’s shirt, he freezes at the sight that’s before him. Tooru’s head is thrown back, he thrones on Hajime’s lap as if he’s ruling and praying, neck an arch of pale purity. Then Tooru falls forward, his cock presses against Hajime’s through too much fabric, and both of them groan before Hajime slams their mouths together in a new kiss. He claws at Tooru’s shirt, moaning when Tooru grinds hard against him, they’re not nearly naked enough, so “this ‘s gotta get off,” and somehow they manage to get both shirts out of the way. Tooru’s eyes go bright and gleam like gold when Hajime’s finally half-naked underneath him. He’s out of breath, his soft hair curling at the tips, all messy, he’s beautiful.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” Tooru runs his fingers over Hajime’s chest, along his stomach, nails dragging through the dark trail of hair with that perfect force, and much more softly when Tooru reaches to push the pads of his thumbs over Hajime’s nipples. His lips quirk into a grin when Hajime arches into the touch, moaning a slurred fragment of Tooru’s name. “And that.”

Hajime pulls him down, placing a kiss on his forehead. Tooru shudders when Hajime begins to rain small kisses all over his skin. “Ah come on, now you’re teasing. I – ohh -   _Hajime_.”

Hajime exhales and decides to just say it. He opens his mouth against Tooru’s neck, licking softly, the taste of salt and sweat and mint bursting on his tongue. “I like it when you mark me up.”

He can hear how Tooru gasps for air. Hajime grins. He uses the moment to suck a mark below Tooru’s ear, taking his revenge with a quick hard pull of his mouth, and then there’s a dark patch of blood condensing below Tooru’s skin. Tooru moans, and his fingers claw at Hajime’s back, “God, you – you-“

“If you tease me with it, I’ll never let you do it again.” Hajime kisses the mark once. It’s not as dark and deep as his own, but it’ll do. “Just pick a better spot next time. This one’s revenge. And don’t make it so that Inoue thinks I’m getting strangled by my girlfriend.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend.” The growl that comes out of Tooru’s throat really shouldn’t make Hajime’s cock twitch, but it does. Then Tooru grabs his chin, fingers turning Hajime to look at that man that’s taken hold of his soul.

“I want you in my mouth.”

Lord, help him.

“Can I,” Tooru breathes, mouth sliding down on him already. “Want to make you feel good.”

“Only if I can do it to you after.” Hajime somehow says it, voice too hoarse to be his own. “Want to take you apart.”

Tooru looks up at him. His glance is ink-black, stars dancing in his pupils. “Yes.”

Hajime kisses him so hard that their lips may bruise, but he doesn’t care. He drowns himself in Tooru’s mouth, melts their tongues together until their breath is one instead of apart, and somehow fumbles for his belt. Tooru sucks at his bottom lips and reaches down, too, trying to help and managing to pull the belt’s thorn out of its puncture, slashing Hajime’s zipper down impatiently.

Then a warm hand wraps tightly around his cock, and Hajime’s head falls back.

“Tooru, oh my God, oh-“

Tooru’s lips brush along the trail of hair on his stomach, tickling at the curve of his hipbones. His fingers are warm and stroke Hajime slowly, too slow, he’s burning up into liquid gold and Tooru just won’t –

Soft lips open around his cock, and Tooru takes him into his mouth. The heat around his length is searing, he’s got to be so wet already, can feel it when Tooru flicks his tongue over the head of his cock and lets him slide deep. Hajime jolts, a cry stuck in his throat, fingers pushing hard into Tooru’s hair and gripping at his head. “Fuck, ohh.” Tooru stills, breathes out hard. His throat works around Hajime’s cock, he’s beautiful, swallowing him just like that, and Hajime pushes his sweat-slick hair out of his face so he can rest a hand on Tooru’s cheek.

“You’re gorgeous." His thumb feels along the rim of Tooru’s mouth where he’s stretching that pink mouth around Hajime’s cock. Tooru does something that’s almost a smile, and seeing him kneel over Hajime with those eyes, blown-out into a storm, into amber-gold desire, almost shoves Hajime right over the edge.

But then Tooru moves his mouth back up and presses his tongue against Hajime’s cock, and his mind echoes into chaos. Tooru sucks him hard, cheeks hollowing as he moans around Hajime’s cock, a broken little sound that thrums through all of Hajime’s body. Tooru’s legs are wrapped around one of his, he’s grinding against Hajime’s knee, getting off while he’s groaning around him and it’s the goddamn best thing Hajime’s ever had.

His hands are in Tooru’s hair, loose and helpless, he’s trying so hard not to push into his slick mouth and ruin it, but Tooru knows, always does. His hands are steadying Hajime’s hips, holding him down with the force of years of training, and there are going to be more marks on him, from nails and a mouth on his neck and Tooru all over his heart.

Tooru sucks him deeper into his mouth, and he wants this so badly, Hajime hears him whimper, that sweet noise he makes when he’s hard himself, desperate to taste Hajime in his mouth. He’s got to be soaking Tooru’s lips with himself, he’s so hard it hurts. His thighs are shaking, fingers cramping around Tooru’s shoulders where they’ve fallen so he doesn’t push his head down. Tooru’s mouth is wet and fucked red, his lips are stretched around Hajime’s cock like they belong there, the view from above has his lashes flutter shut in dark shadows, and then his tongue presses hard against Hajime’s slit, sucking him and with a lick along his entire length, he’s coming-

“Fuck, I – I’m gonna-“

Tooru’s lips hit the dark nest of hair above Hajime’s cock when he pushes his mouth all the way down.

And Hajime comes, hard and loud, gripping at Tooru’s neck as his hips thrust forward. Tooru pulls back and his mouth is open, Hajime’s cock resting heavily on his tongue as Tooru lets him come like that, all over his sore mouth that’s marked in burning red from Hajime wrecking it, him, both of them.

His vision is glowing white for a second before it blurs back to darkness. Hajime breathes, somehow, his limbs heavy and worn out, as if a string inside him had been pulled and sent away all thoughts out of his head. Something rustles below his face. When Hajime manages to take a look, he sees Tooru wipe his lips with a tissue, and then Hajime’s chest is already occupied by a warm body with the softest skin.

“Hey.”

“Mhm,” Hajime mumbles. “You. That was.”

“You came really hard.” Tooru rests a hand on his stomach, caressing Hajime until he starts to make a sound that could be a purr. “It’s cute, you’re always more into it when I messed with you the night before.”

Hajime wants to slap his arm, but he can’t bring himself to move yet. The silence isn’t cold this time. Tooru is an incandescent weight by his side, heavy yet known. Hajime could paint his body with eyes closed. He nuzzles Tooru’s hair with his face, inhales the scent of mint mingled with sweat, locker rooms’ smell, lavender.

When Tooru starts to shift around, Hajime blinks at him. Tooru is staring at him, his glance flicking between Hajime’s eyes and his mouth. “’s there something you want?”

“Mhm. You look good like that, all messy and done for.” Tooru’s voice cracks a bit, and Hajime immediately reaches for his throat. “Are you okay? Shit, you had to overdo it again, I told you that you don’t need to-“

“I’m fine, relax.” Tooru rolls his eyes, snuggling more tightly against Hajime’s chest. “But if you want to make it up to me, you could be a bit nicer. After all, you didn’t talk to me all day.”

“Alright, we both learned our lesson, fine. I’ll immediately yell at you when you’re annoying and you’ll keep your teeth to yourself. Deal?”

There’s no chance for Tooru to reply – not a bad thing, though.

Hajime kisses him, gently curls his tongue into Tooru’s mouth. He can taste himself, can taste Tooru and his shuddering breath, and Hajime licks at his tongue until they’re both pressed together, moans thrilling in their touch. Tooru melts against him and nips at Hajime’s bottom lip with a low hum. Their kiss is lazy and tired and warm, and everything that they need after this instead of words. Tooru feels even heavier now. All of his weight pushes down on Hajime, and Tooru’s fingers are clutching at Hajime’s face with nails burning half-moons into his jaw.

And then Tooru shivers under Hajime’s breath, his skin warm and the soft lick of his tongue into Hajime’s mouth sending a myriad of sparks along Hajime’s nerves.

He wants to kiss Tooru all night long, but something pushes against his leg. Hajime moves his thigh, and Tooru shivers, moans into his mouth. Oh. He’s still hard.

“We should move.”

“Mhm – wha?” Tooru blinks at him, eyes half-lidded. He’s curled against Hajime’s side, head resting on his chest until a moment ago. Everything about him is a mess. His lips are shining wet, slick from Hajime’s come, and Hajime bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t come again right there and then.

“Lube’s in the bedroom, if you didn’t put it somewhere else.” He pushes his thumb along Tooru’s lower lip, slowly stroking away the wetness. “That is, if you still want me to fuck you.”

A shudder travels through Tooru’s body. “Oh,” it’s a low, soft sound, “yeah. That’s, we should do that, yes. Because I’m probably going to melt away if you’re not touching me again.”

Hajime weaves his fingers into Tooru’s hair and kisses him a last time. “So dramatic. Get off of me, I’m not carrying you.”

“No need to, I can walk. And you’re carrying my kisses in your neck, that’s enough!” Tooru grins, and before Hajime can hit him in the chest, he’s jumped to his feet and flees to the bedroom.

“Idiot!” Hajime shouts after him. He shouldn’t have told Tooru that he likes the marks. The damage’s done now. So Hajime gets up, pushing the jeans off his legs and just leaving them where they are. His skin is still warm, his mouth tingling all over.

Tooru’s on the bed when Hajime walks in. “There you are.” His eyes follow Hajime’s motion as he approaches, and as soon as he’s sitting down, Tooru reaches for his shoulders.

“One more thing. You’re totally gonna take revenge, right?”

Hajime manages not to grin. “I already did. I’m not that childish.” Then he slides a hand into Tooru’s neck and kisses him quiet, until Tooru curls both hands around Hajime’s back to pull him down into the sheets.

 

* * *

 

 

Inoue doesn’t mention the kiss marks again the next day. Tooru seems content with how the libero is treating Hajime; there’s not one snarky remark or more than a second glance at their teammate, and Hajime’s relieved.

He still works twice as hard as usual to make up for the discomfort he’s caused the others, and the coach seems to approve. He nods at Hajime here and there, barely criticizing his blocking anymore, even though he still chides him for throwing himself on the ground too hard.

Everything’s back to normal. That’s when they switch the lineup for a practice game, and Hajime ends up on the other team as Tooru.

“It’s your serve, Oikawa!” Inoue waves at Tooru, giving him a thumbs-up before turning his back on him to face the team that Hajime’s on. “We’re gonna pulverize them!”

“Of course we will, Inoue-san,” Tooru chirps. He’s in a great mood, his steps are wide and confident, and he positions himself on the back line with a hand by his hip, flipping the ball up a few times.

Hajime smiles.

The coach whistles. “Get going!”

When Tooru throws the ball up in the air, his eyes find Hajime across the court for a split second.

And Hajime grins at him as he lifts two fingers, puts them against his lips, and licks.

Tooru’s mouth drops open. The ball’s still in the air, reaching its peak. The players in Hajime’s team tense up.

It’s a sight that Hajime will never forget when the volleyball comes falling down and dunks Tooru’s head.

“Oikawa!” The coach’s voice thunders through the gym, breaking the stunned silence. Tooru blinks. “Uhm. S-Sir?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Tooru opens his mouth, closes it, and reaches up to touch his head. “I’m serving?”

“Dude, I think you just got served yourself!” Someone shouts, and that’s it. The booming laughter that bursts over the entire court finally snaps Tooru out of his trance. His cheeks go red like cherries. “Very funny! I want to see you guys do a jumpserve like that!”

Hajime swears to himself that he’s going to buy Tooru all the milkbread on the way home. But for now, he just grins when Tooru stares at him across the court and mouthes:

_I hate you so much._

_Love you too,_ Hajime thinks and blows him a kiss when nobody’s looking. Maybe he’ll have a few more marks after tonight, but he can’t bring himself to find that a bad thing.


End file.
